iWould Never Hurt You
by BoxOfTrinkets
Summary: She scares herself. She loves Freddie. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She doesn’t remember hurting him.
1. Chapter 1

She sits on the floor, cross-legged and unmoving. She stares silently at the boy sobbing in front of her. He is curled up on himself on the floor, wearing nothing but a bloody pair of boxers. His hands cover his face. She watches him cry and doesn't move to comfort him or make any move to indicate that she cares. She just watches him with the same bored expression that she wore the entire time she hit him. Punched him. Kicked him. Scratched him. Hurt him. She doesn't feel anything. Her heart isn't racing. She is completely shut down. He cries and sobs her name, holding his bleeding arms and rocking softly. She doesn't answer him. Her expression doesn't change. His cries whither away to a soft whimpering and he looks up at her with his swollen brown eyes. Her flat blue ones reveal nothing. They watch each other before she gets up and leaves the room. He relaxes slightly. His body hurts. His arms and chest are bruised with imprints of her fists and shoes. His nose and mouth are bleeding from where she punched him. He wipes the blood away with a hand that feels as though the fingers are broken.

She walks back in with a tube of medicine and bandages. Her expression doesn't change when she looks down at him. She's not very tall. But she makes him feel so small. So insignificant. He flinches when she comes back in and kneels down next to him. She doesn't react. She moves quickly, cleaning him up and bandaging his wounds. She silently hands him a tissue to stop his nose from bleeding and proceeds to wrap and splint three of his fingers. He winces as she roughly moves his limbs to bandage them and hisses through his teeth as whatever medicine she is using is spread on his cut flesh. She is silent through it all. Her expression hasn't changed. She remains bland and shut down. Tears escape his eyes and she wipes them away impatiently, as though he is a child she really doesn't have time for. He trembles when her cool hands touch his burning flesh. She finishes fixing him and stands up. He wants to say something. He doesn't dare say anything. He stares at her and she doesn't even look back down at him as she turns around and leaves the apartment, closing the door softly rather than slamming it. He scrapes himself off the floor and limps to the soft inviting bed in the corner of the room. He curls up and waits.

She sits in her car and sobs. Screaming and cursing her self with every foul word she can dream up. Her emotions come flooding back to her and she cries loudly and messily, pulling at her long blonde hair and running her fingernails down the white skin of her face. Her fingernails are red with his blood. She bangs her head on the window and lets herself feel. She scares herself. She loves Freddie. She doesn't want to hurt him. She doesn't know what's wrong with her. She doesn't remember hurting him. She remembers them laughing. She remembers what he said. She remembers wrestling with him. She remembers when she straddled his chest and positions her hands on his shoulders. His laughs fade. He looks at her reproachfully. Ow. He says. She grins at him. His eyes scrunch in pain. You're hurting me Sam. He begins to struggle under her and she blinks and shuts down. Goes completely blank. Her emotions drain out of her and she feels. Empty. Her grin slips off and she stares at him with her blank expression and stops hearing his voice urging her off him. She pushes harder and he cries out. She moves her hands to his throat and his breathing becomes labored. He struggles to push her off of him and she presses harder. Choking him and feeling nothing. She remembers him grabbing her thin waist and shoving her off of him. She remembers her head hitting the dresser. Hard. He sits up and stares in horror. He reaches for her and whispers an apology. She doesn't feel anything. No remorse. No horror. Nothing as she reaches up, grabs his outstretched fingers in her tiny hand and violently twists them until she hears three pops and feels them splinter beneath her strong fingers.

The next thing she remembers is sitting. Watching her bleeding Freddie sobbing her name. Her hands are covered in the blood she drew with her nails and he is covered with blooming bruises. She trembles and braces her hands on the steering wheel and forces herself to stop crying.

He continues to sob on the bed, feeling humiliated and emasculated. His body shakes and his skin burns. He loves her She terrifies him. This happens so often. As soon as he lets her know he's in pain, she beats him. He see's the look in her face and it makes his blood run cold. He knows there's something wrong. He knows she needs help. But he knows there's no help for her. He remembers the last time he tried to help her. He still has the scars.

The door opens and she comes in quietly. Freddie hasn't moved. She sits next to him and absentmindedly plays with his hair. He trembles under her touch. He bites his tongue to hold in more sobs. She's herself again. She lies down behind him and kisses the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and two more tears roll down his swollen face. She gently turns him around and he curls up into her. She kisses him and softly runs her hands over the skin she shredded earlier. He kisses her back timidly. Hot tears fall down his face and he sobs into her mouth. She whispers to him and he buries his face in her soft blonde hair and sobs out his humiliation and the rage he knows he'll never be able to release. She kisses his wet and bruised face and runs her fingers through his soft brown hair. He rolls over and bites his lip, trying to hold in the tears. She doesn't seem to mind. She gently molds herself to fit against his back and runs her hand over his stomach. He removes her hand and rolls over when she's asleep and watches her. And she's all angel and none of the monster she is when she gets in her moods. Freddie sighs, because he loves her., kisses her forehead and rolls back over. So ends another day.


	2. Chapter 2

He's sitting on the bathroom floor, constantly checking the lock to be sure no one can get in. knowing it's pointless. She's not going to get up to come looking for him. She's going to stay right where she is. On the bedroom floor where he left her. He stares at his hands and shakes rack through his body. He is in shock. He is terrified. He thinks she might actually be dead. And if she isn't. He sure as hell is going to be.

He wishes he had her talent. Her creepy talent to shut down her emotions and her mind completely and be able to hurt him without any guilt or any emotion. He wished he had that ability to transform his eyes into the soulless windows her so often became these days and not care when she cried. No. he felt everything. Lately guilt was his constant companion. He felt it every time he hit her back. He wished he didn't have to. But she left him no choice.

He twirls the gun absentmindedly in his hands. Not pointing it anywhere, not pointing it at himself. He remembers. He remembers the night it stated. The night when he had come in late from work. Not too late. Maybe fifteen minutes. Not much longer. He had walked in with a smile, hiding the pack of Fat Cakes behind his back. A surprise for her. She had been sitting on their bed, wearing his favorite black teddy and a pair of gravity defying black stilettos. And a completely blank expression.

You're late. She had stared monotonously. I know I'm sorry he said rather breathlessly, I brought you something. He added with a smile. Her expression remains blank. He hasn't realized it yet. She stands up and walks towards him slowly. He hasn't seen her eyes yet. She gets closer. You're late. She states again, stopping a few inches away from him. I got held up at work, I'm sorry Sam. He's starting to get nervous. She doesn't answer him and he sighs. And looks down at the floor. And looks back up at her with his mouth open to apologize.

And her fist connects with his face and the next thing he sees is her seven inch shoe on the floor next to his face while the other one presses into the side of his head, pining him to the floor. He can't see her eyes. But he knows that there not vibrant blue anymore. There empty. Cold. Flat. He hears it in her voice, cold and hard as nails that fall to the floor around him.

You're late Freddie.

He may not have her talent. But he has his own. He turns off the pain. Shuts off physical feeling. And doesn't feel her fists raining down on his face. Doesn't feel her straddle him and bang his head on the floor. Doesn't feel her nails as they carve paths down his skin. Doesn't feel her heels colliding with his stomach. Doesn't feel her pulling his hair. Only feels the shame and humiliation and the tears coursing down his face and the burning of his flesh as she fixes him up with her blank expression still in place. Feels so small when she stands and looks down at him. Feels the relief when she leaves. Just like she always does.

He remembers a different emotion. One so out of place. Curiosity. He peels his bleeding body off the floor and follows the path he imagines she took and finds himself in the parking garage of there building. Finds her car. Hears screams. He stops a few feet away and shock runs through him as he sees her crying. Pulling her hair and scratching her face and screaming words that made him blush with there level of vulgarity. A shock of pity for the girl he loves floats to his heart and he realizes that this is where she releases her emotions. On herself. This is the reason she can shut down and beat him the way she does. Without really thinking he walks to the other side of the car and gets in. she turns to him and they watch each other for a while. He watches the emotion she so often lacks. Pain. Fear. Guilt. Sorrow. Then finally they settle on one that makes his blood run cold. Nothing. He's going to say something but she punches him and his head is thrown back to violently the fiberglass of the passenger side window cracks and he feels blood run down the nape of his neck. Something inside him snaps. And he punches her right in her perfect face.

He'll never forget her expression when she looked up at him. Priceless.

His mind returns to the bathroom floor and he reaches up and checks the doorknob. Still locked. He goes back to the gun he's presently fingering. He toys with the idea of shooting himself now, without waiting for whatever it is he was waiting for. Her to get up. Her to kill him. He doesn't know. He removes the gun from the side of his head and remembers some more.

Remembers earlier this afternoon. Remembers his sarcastic remark. Remembers her looking up in anger. Remembers her. Hitting him. He hit her back. Again and again. And there fighting so hard and her eyes swell up and he swears his jaw is dislocated and her lower lip splits open and there on the floor and she kicks him and he pulls her hair and they stand up and he shoves her with all his might and she flies back against the dresser and picture frames and the drawers and various objects rain down on her and she lays there unmoving. He doesn't move either. He's terrified. Because as soon as she gets up she's going to kill him. And when she gets up he's going to get it. And when she gets up. She's going to get up.

She didn't get up.

He was too afraid to check if she was still breathing. Without really thinking he walks calmly to there closet. Pulls out the gun. Walks to the bathroom. And locks the door. He takes a deep breath through his teeth. And reaches a decision. He's going to open the door. If she's alive. He'll take his punishment like a man. If she's dead. He shoots himself.

He stands on trembling feet. And reaches for the doorknob. And unlocks it. And opens the door.

And his heart sinks.


End file.
